The Cost of Winning
by IcyPanther
Summary: "The Blue and Green Paladins serve no purpose to the Empire," the Galran commander smirked at his bound captives. "And as such you have no use except as arena fodder." He chuckled. "Give us a good show before you die." / Lance is determined to protect Pidge and save her from the arena. She will not die here. Over his dead body. Hopefully it's not quite that literal of a promise.


**Timeline notes:** Season three – season four compliant until Keith joins the Blade of Marmora

 **Warning notes:** A lot of violence. Very minor character deaths. Some graphic depictions of said deaths and injuries. It's a story involving the arena and it's me, what else should we honestly expect? :p

 **xxx**

 **The Cost of Winning**

 **xxx**

"Go left." The command from Shiro crackled in Lance and Pidge's helmets before an equally firm sounding, "Go right," came from Keith.

"Er, Keith, I think you misheard," Lance said quietly, not daring to raise his voice from where he and Pidge were hunkered down at the hallway junction. "There's a good fifty or so sentries to the right." Next to him Pidge mouthed "fifty-three" and he stuck his tongue out at her.

"We don't know the layout of the rest of the base," Keith retorted, sounding out of breath. "Go the route we planned."

The Paladins were in the process of infiltrating a Galra base that served as a research outpost and had vital information regarding both prisoner lists and transport ships among a host of other items. The Galra though had designed the base in such a way that there were different hubs and each one housed different information so they had been forced to split up.

Pidge and Lance had gone to find prisoner records, Hunk and Keith to transport ship logs and Allura and Shiro to the weapons hub. They'd had to plan their route carefully as Blade intel from those who had tried to breach the base before had relayed that the Galra had traps and failsafes in place to prevent tampering as well as not having any actual layouts of their buildings programmed into the system. Pidge had near cried when she heard that.

It would have been impressive that they were finally learning except for the fact that it was a huge hindrance to getting around. Only Keith was bypassing everything without incident thanks to his bloodline while the rest of them were doing the best they could with the Blades' information and the most direct route to the server rooms at each hub.

"That's too many for Lance and Pidge," Shiro cut in. "They can't handle fifty in close combat like that. Go around. Pidge, find another route."

Lance winced at the truthful but still somewhat stinging observation. Shiro's words made sense but still…

They knew what they were getting into with the sentries. And they didn't have to fight _all_ of them. Lance could take some out before they emerged from behind the wall and then he and Pidge could make a break for it. There was a door just beyond them that Pidge could open and then seal off the sentries.

"Shiro—" Keith started.

"Keith, this isn't the time," Shiro snapped and Lance winced for a different reason now. Ever since Shiro had come back, despite telling Keith he was their new leader, the former Black Paladin had been unable to stop himself from taking charge and offering input. Keith tried to hide it, but Lance could still see the hurt and uncertainty flicker over his face whenever Shiro completely kiboshed one of his plans and Lance hated it. After that horrible first mission with chasing Lotor, Keith _had_ been coming into his own as a leader but since they'd gotten Shiro back a couple weeks ago the dynamic was changing and Lance wasn't sure if it was for the better.

"We'll go left," Pidge declared at the same time Lance chimed in, "I think we can clear a path," and the two looked at each other in contest.

Pidge abruptly turned on her heel and started down the left branch of the hallway that the Blades had not mapped out. Lance hesitated for a moment, cursed under his breath and followed her. "We're going left," he muttered into the comms and he hated that he could picture Keith's face fall and then harden. He was supposed to be Keith's right hand as the new Red Paladin and support him and right now he had the weird feeling that he'd just betrayed him.

"I don't like this," Lance told Pidge as they crept down the eerily quiet hallway. And he didn't just mean the haunted-house feeling he was getting from said empty hall.

"I know," Pidge sighed and she caught Lance's eye. "I don't either." Pausing, she nodded her head in the direction of a door on their right. "Let's go through here. It should hook back up to the other hall based on layout."

Lance nodded and fell into step behind her, bayard at the ready. They were nearing the door when out of the corner of his vision he saw a small blink of red and he whipped his head around, eyes widening as it revealed itself to be some sort of sensor.

"Pidge!" he yelped, closing the space between them with a leap as the sensor blinked madly. "Get d—!"

His words were swallowed by a concussive blast of light and sound and then he knew no more.

xxx

Lance had enough unfortunate experience by now from waking up following explosions, battles and concussive hits to know what it felt like to pop out of the cryo-pod.

This was not one such time.

Every part of him ached and he moaned low in his throat as feeling came back to previously sleeping limbs. His hands were trapped beneath him and he went to shift them, only to realize he could not as they were encased in some type of cuff.

Captured.

Great.

He took a steadying breath to tamp down the fear rising in his stomach. It was going to be fine. Everything was going to be just fine. The team would come and Pidge would track him somehow and—

"Pidge!" he choked out. "Pidge!" Because Pidge had been with him when they'd set off the sensor and if he was captured then…

Please, no. Not her too.

He couldn't see much as he was lying on his stomach, but bracing his elbows on the floor he picked his torso up and craned his head around, bypassing the door across from him in his search for his smallest teammate.

There. He let out an audible breath of relief as he spotted Pidge, hands bound in front of her and ankles as well, but lying on her side. She'd been stripped of her outer armor, leaving her in just the black bodysuit and boots and Lance realized he'd undergone the same treatment.

"Pidge," he hissed, awkwardly dragging himself across the floor to her. "Pidge!" Was she hurt? He didn't see any telltale signs of blood coming through her uniform, although a small cut was dotted just below her hairline.

She didn't so much as blink. He butted his head up against her shoulder and that garnered a soft little noise. He did it again and again until a garbled sounding "what?" emitted. A tick later though she jerked upright, nearly hitting her head against Lance's and her honey eyes were wide with realized horror.

"Hey, hey, easy," he cautioned as she flopped back down with a grunt. "You okay?"

"We're captured, Lance." Her words were muffled by the floor but no less sarcastic. "We are not okay."

"I meant are you hurt."

At that she did pick her face back up, guilt coloring it. "No… I'm, I'm okay. I think. Nothing feels broken. Are you?"

Lance shook his head and she let out a tiny relieved sigh.

"We should have gone right," she murmured after a few moments. "I'm sorry, Lance."

"Not your fault," Lance replied automatically and although Pidge pursed her lips she didn't argue. "Let's focus on getting out of here, all right? Time to put that genius brain of yours to work."

Pidge hauled herself up to join Lance on knees and sat back on her bound ankles, surveying the room. "Not much to work with," she admitted and Lance had to agree. There were no keypads on this side of the door, no vents and flat walls for the rest of it. "But maybe I can try to get these cuffs off. Turn around and—"

The door across from opened with a whoosh and both immediately directed their attention at it and the Galra soldier who entered. He was decent-sized for a Galra, thick black sideburns taking up a broad face and what almost looked like a topknot pulled behind his head while his eyes were a darker amber yellow with visible pupils.

"Welcome—"

"Yeah, no, don't start that," Lance interrupted before the Galran could finish his greeting. "Unless you're going to take these off," he wiggled his shoulders at his cuffs, "I think you really meant to say something like "Meet your doom," and the like. I'm just spit-balling here."

"Lance," Pidge groaned next to him. He didn't take back his words though because he wanted the Galran focused entirely on him and not Pidge, although she wasn't making it easy with side commentary. He might have almost no control in this situation but he did know that they were not going to lay a single claw on her.

The Galran to his surprise chuckled although it didn't sound friendly. "Very well, Paladin. We shall skip the pleasantries and get right down to business."

Lance tensed and could feel Pidge do the same. Other than Allura that one horrible time and then Shiro again none of them had ever actually been captured and held for ransom and it wasn't something that was ever brought up or what they should do in such a situation.

Lance wondered if maybe they should have. Well. He was just going to have to wing it.

"You aren't getting the Lions," he bit out, knowing that at least was true.

"I—"

"Or information," Lance added.

"If you wou—"

"We'll never tell you anything."

"You—"

"Except that you smell like—"

"Enough!" roared the officer and it took all Lance had not to flinch back at the sudden volume. The alien took a calming breath and spoke, eyeing Lance distrustfully for another interruption. "You are not bargaining chips, Paladins."

Oh. Well, that was good news.

"You are the entertainment."

Lance blinked.

"Wha—?"

It was his turn to be cut off as the Galran smugly smiled. "The Blue and Green Paladins serve no purpose to the Empire. And as such you have no use except as arena fodder."

"Now wait just a tick," Lance said hotly even as his stomach filled with ice and he could heard Pidge let out a gasp behind him. "I think you're being a little hasty."

Because the arena?

The _arena?_ The gladiator ring that Shiro had been forced to fight for his life in time and time again? The place that still gave their leader nightmares and flashbacks even a year out that they all knew of despite his attempts to hide them?

 _That_ arena?

Oh _Dios_ no.

The Galran let out another deep laugh. "You are not the Champion or the Altean princess. You are mere soldiers." His eyes narrowed, amusement gone. "Soldiers that have sent our beloved emperor to near death. You will pay for such with your lives."

He moved towards them then, eyes set on Pidge who looked not like the snarky bad-ass tech gremlin but a scared, young girl in that moment and Lance pivoted without hesitation to place himself more in front of Pidge. "Don't touch her," he growled in warning.

The Galran brought himself up short, confusion marring his face before it settled into something closer to a leer. "Her, you say?" he repeated and Lance felt his stomach drop. "Oh, I suppose I do see it now. I should warn you," and his teeth flashed in the low lighting. "We don't see many females here… and they don't tend to last long."

"You won't last long," Pidge bit out at last and although there was a tremor in her voice her words were fierce. "Let me out of these cuffs. We'll see who is left standing."

The amber eyes lit up. "Such spunk! Oh, you will be a real treat to watch, little Paladin."

"She's not fighting," Lance snarled. Over his dead body.

Ugh. Bad comparison. But no. Hell no. Pidge wasn't going to fight in there. Not like Shiro had. Lance would not allow it. Her small hands were absolutely not going to be stained any more than they already had.

"As though you have a choice in that matter," scoffed the Galran. A soft beep echoed in the room then and he glanced at his wrist as some sort of message flashed there. "We've arrived," he announced. "Now, come—"

As he made to reach for Pidge again Lance _moved,_ pushing up on bound feet and head butting the Galran squarely in the chest. Stars immediately burst in front of his eyes as his head collided with solid armor, but the force still sent the Galran stumbling backwards as Lance made an undignified fall as momentum carried him back down.

Pidge was up a tick later herself, using whatever force she had in her small form to shoulder check the Galran and already off balance from Lance's hit he went down with a shout, Pidge nearly atop him. Her hands were scrambling awkwardly behind her as she tried to find something on the Galra to use and Lance launched himself onto the pile to further aid in a distraction.

But whether someone had heard the shout or it was a routine procedure given the fact they'd docked somewhere, the cell door opened again and revealed two more Galra officers in foot soldier uniforms. Lance swore as they rushed in and bodily pulled him off by his bound hands, cuffing him sharply upside the head while the other grabbed Pidge by her hair and held her thrashing like a fish on a line while she shouted swears that would make a seasoned sailor blush. The Galran holding her clapped a hand over her mouth with an audible smack.

"Are you all right, Commander Zhao?" the soldier asked Lance asked as the other Galran picked himself off the floor with a grunt.

"In a moment," he growled. It was all the warning Lance had as a gloved hand smacked across his face and whipped his head. He took it silently, not willing to give the apparent commander any satisfaction although he tasted blood and his tongue ached where he'd bitten down on it. He mustered up his best glare even as his cheek was smarting red and his stomach was doing flips.

"Take them to the arena," the commander ordered, striding from the room. "I'm off to collect our payment."

"We're worth more alive to you than dead," Lance shouted after his retreating back, hoping he didn't sound as desperate as he felt.

The Galran turned to look over his shoulder, amber eyes dancing with amusement. "That depends on how long you live for. Give me a good show, Paladins."

"You—"

"Quiet," snapped the soldier holding Lance, shaking him with enough force Lance swore his brain rattled.

He caught Pidge's eyes, warm honey shrunk with fear, and he wished he could do something to reassure her, but he was being dragged forward a tick later by his bound arms, knees scraping painfully on the floor and he lost sight of her as his guard took the lead.

The only relief he had was that he heard Pidge and her escort follow a tick later. He didn't want Pidge in the arena, _Dios no,_ but if she had to be then he wanted her with him. He couldn't protect her if they were separated and truthfully… he was relying her on her to have his back too as much as he hated it. Hand-to-hand was not his strong suit in the slightest and he doubted the Galra would be kind enough to give him a blaster.

He had no idea how they were getting out of this.

His eyes narrowed as they rounded a curve and made for a hallway that nearly reminded him of the tunnels in sports. They just had to remain alive until the others could find them.

How they were going to do that though he had no idea. Because why would they think he and Pidge would have been taken to the arena? They were Paladins of Voltron, they _should_ have been prisoners of war. At the very least headed to an interrogation chamber.

Not to the slaughter. Because Lance _knew_ that the odds were going to be stacked against them. The Galra wanted a bloodbath.

There was a roaring now, but it wasn't the comforting noise of the Lions. No. It was a crowd.

A crowd of blood-thirsty Galrans waiting to see them butchered.

Oh _Dios._

The sound turned overwhelming as a set of large doors at the end of the long hall were opened by a pair of guards and Lance caught his first glimpse of the horror awaited; blood-stained sand and what looked like cages with a mixture of aliens behind them. He tried to dig his feet into the ground but he couldn't find purchase and he was dragged over the threshold.

The scent of the room, a containment waiting area it seemed, made him gag as blood and sweat and urine assaulted his nose and he was tossed face first into the soiled sand. Pidge thumped next to him a second later and only the fact she was there was preventing him from giving in to his own fear.

Protect Pidge.

It was hard to hear his own thoughts over the screaming coming from just beyond through another set of closed doors, but there was one that rang loud and clear. Protect Pidge.

He could do that.

Or, well, he would literally die trying.

 _Dios,_ they were going to _die_.

The doors were opening now and with them a new concussive wave of cheers. He and Pidge remained bound on the ground and Lance had then a horrible image of the Galra just throwing them to the mercy of the ring without even a way to run away or defend themselves. No, he reassured himself. They wouldn't do that. They wanted a show. It was the only comfort he could find.

The tight press of the manacles released a tick later as if hearing him, but Lance made no move to stand (he couldn't fight if he didn't move, right?) until he heard Pidge's sharp gasp of pain and he rolled his head to see one of the guards grasping her tightly by her short locks, blaster pressed to the side of her head.

"Get up," he ordered Lance, "or she'll fight by herself." That was all the motivation he needed and Lance slowly got to his knees and then rose to his full height, which still fell short of the guards.

"Win and you will be rewarded," the guard said, although a sneer to the sentence told Lance that 'reward' was used loosely here. "Lose… and well, you're dead."

Pidge was shoved through the gaping doors into the arena and Lance hurried after her lest they try and separate them anyway, well aware that he was willingly walking into hell. The screams grew louder around them and Lance's cursory glance showed hundreds if not thousands of screaming spectators high above the sand-filled but otherwise barren ring they were now in.

Lance did his best to ignore them and turned his attention to Pidge, who was clambering to her feet from the guard's push, her small shoulders squared but her head down.

Lance didn't waste another second and pulled her into the tightest hug that she desperately returned. Boos sounded around them at the display.

"We're gonna be okay," he whispered, lips pressed right next to her ear. "We're gonna be okay."

"L-Lance," she whimpered.

"We're Paladins, right?" he forced more bravado into his voice then he felt. "We just… just gotta hold on until the others come. Okay?" It was so much easier said than done but they had to.

They _had_ to make it because right now they had no time to do devise any plan but to fight for their lives.

He felt her nod against his chest and a second later she looked up. Her eyes were shining brightly but there was a strength to them that Lance sorely envied in this moment.

Any further conversation was halted as a speaker above them crackled to life and the cheering and booing Galrans fell almost silent. "Ladies and gentlemen," roared out the speaker in a much too cheerful voice, "welcome to the arena! Have we got a treat for you today!"

Cheers greeted the announcement and Lance hugged Pidge a little tighter while he kept his eyes trained past her head and towards the doors on the opposite side of the arena.

"Two Paladins of Voltron!" Only booing now and Lance saw out of the corner of his eye what looked like a soda cup come flying towards him, only for it to be repelled by a patterning of purple holograms. Force field around the arena keeping anything from coming in but more likely to keep them from getting out he noted, filing it away for future reference.

"Any slave who kills both of these despicable Paladins will be granted immediate freedom," the announcer continued and based on the sudden loud gasping of the crowd Lance figured that wasn't a very common offer. He shouldn't have been surprised though. The Galrans were out for their blood after all. And a desperate, hopeful competitor would give them the best show.

"Standard melee rules for the arena today," was met with loud cheers. Melee? The Galrans clearly knew what that entailed but it meant nothing to him. Lance scowled up at the speaker box. Already at a disadvantage, as though they'd had any to begin with.

"And," and Lance could almost hear the dark grin, "prepare yourselves. For this melee will continue until both Paladins are dead!"

The screams rose to such a volume that Lance physically stumbled as the ground vibrated below him but it had nothing on the way his heart leapt into his throat and he felt Pidge's pick up tempo against his chest.

"Let the melee commence!"

Across the arena the opposite door opened with agonizing slowness and Lance forced his arms to drop from around Pidge and she turned to face the oncoming threat as well, hands clenched into fists.

A single alien appeared, bare-chested although clothed in the black pants like the prisoners they rescued. But unlike those prisoners, normally scared and tired and eyes haunted, this one had a killer's intent and Lance shivered at the sudden chill from both that and the horrible gratefulness that this was their opponent.

He was under no qualms that it was kill or be killed here. His hands shook. He had never killed anyone before, not like this. But if he had to he would prefer for it to be against someone like this and not… not like those prisoners they rescued.

Still, he'd prefer not to do it at all. But if it was between that and protecting Pidge… he knew what he had to do. Although, he gulped, this was assuming they lived. Because this alien… they were in trouble.

It was tall, easily eight feet, and bi-pedal like them. Its body looked to be composed of steel scales, which featured two two hugely muscular arms and hands as large as Pidge's entire head. It tossed back it's almost shark-like snout, fang upon fang revealed, and _screamed,_ the sound making Lance's blood run cold.

"Fuck," Pidge swore next to him softly, more out of reflex than anything he thought.

"Fuck," he echoed, the word tasting foreign on his tongue of normally "holy crows" and "quiznaks" but it felt appropriate for this situation.

"How are we supposed to fight it?" Pidge asked, a waver to her words. Because they were humans. With breakable bones and frail skin while _that_ alien was a weapon all its own.

A sharp whistling came through the air and a sword dropped from the ceiling to land point down in the sand, quivering in the exact center of the arena. Lance stared at it. One sword. That's all they were being offered?

Suddenly, melee made a lot more sense. One weapon, multiple opponents. Whoever got it would have the advantage. For them though Lance knew it wasn't just an advantage. It was either get the sword or die. Simple as that.

Not like he or Pidge knew how to use a sword though. They were both more ranged fighters and—

"Begin!"

Lance's feet moved before his mind gave the command, instinct guiding him.

If they didn't get that sword they were dead. Simple as that.

While Lance was not the fasted member of Team Voltron, he was quick and faster than their more lumbering opponent. He was at the sword in seconds and wrapped both hands about the hilt – stained with various colored fluids he faintly registered – and pulled _._ It came free without too much resistance.

But now that he had it, what exactly did he do with it?

Swing it, his mind suggested helpfully as the alien bore down on him with a scream of fury. Okay, that made sense. He lacked the arm strength Shiro and Keith possessed but the sword wasn't terribly heavy and he brought it up in a flashing arc.

It connected to the creature's extended clawed arm with a loud clang that reverberated up Lance's arm and he nearly dropped the sword in surprise. Armored scales. Right.

The slave did not have such pause and with a fling of its other monstrous arm it connected on Lance's now unprotected side and he went flying with a loud yelp, only just barely managing to maintain his grip on the blade. Pidge shouted his name from behind and he hit the sand with ears ringing and side aching.

There was no time to lie quietly though as Pidge's scream of his name turned to one of terror as the alien ignored Lance and went straight for the unarmed girl. The crowd roared and above the ringing in his ears Lance could hear the announcer saying something about the shortest fight in history.

Lance hefted himself to his feet, stumbling for a second as he overbalanced thanks to the sword. Pidge had avoided the alien's first strike, much more agile than it, and had circled around and was headed for Lance.

"Back!" she cried. "Hit its back!"

"Back?" Lance repeated dumbly. Pidge ran past him and kept going, shouting over her shoulder "I'll be the bait!" and why did that sound like an absolutely _horrible_ idea?

Lance braced himself as the alien approached, but like Pidge he bypassed Lance completely, apparently deciding to take out the unarmed target first. As he went by though Lance's eyes widened in understanding for the armored scales that coated the arms and chest were missing on the back. And, based on the criss-cross of scars that covered patches, they would not be the only ones who targeted that area.

They did have to be the first ones though to deal a killing blow.

He gave chase to the two, closing the distance between him and the alien in a few long strides and slashed the sword down.

But the alien wasn't as stupid as they needed it to be and while the sword made a shallow pass the creature whirled before the blade could fully sink in and with two long, powerful arms it smashed its palms into Lance's chest and sent him flying, sword flinging itself out of his weak grip to land yards away.

He might have screamed as he felt something _crack_ and searing agony whited out his vision for a second. There was no time though to regain himself as the alien had stopped its pursuit of Pidge and had turned towards where he was struggling to draw a full breath and pull himself back up.

Apparently he was the weaker prey now.

Ocean eyes widened as savage red locked onto his and the alien let out another scream, nearly a howl as it stalked towards him and he struggled to get to standing, knowing that doing so wasn't going to actually save him but at least he wasn't going to die on his knees.

Oh _Dios,_ he was actually going to die.

A high shriek broke through the creature's own battle cry and Lance could only watch in horror as Pidge launched herself at it, clambering up its back and wrapping her small arms about its large neck.

It let out another scream, this one of anger rather than victory, and it swiped one of its large arms back, reaching for the small girl who clung to the alien like it was a bucking bronco.

Pidge let out a pained gasp as one beefy fist smashed into her back but she gamely held on and Lance took the moment for all it was worth, regaining his feet fully. But as he rose the alien managed to hook one hand about Pidge's leg and it wrenched her off, shaking her like a ragdoll before tossing her to the side with a short scream.

"Pidge!" Lance screamed, rushing towards the pair as Pidge struggled to get to her feet, favoring her right side with heavy pants that Lance couldn't hear above the crowd noise and trying to limp towards the fallen sword that the other alien had ignored in favor of its own strength.

He was running as fast as he could, but he realized with horror he wasn't going to make it in time and Pidge wasn't going to make it to the sword. The alien was closing in on Pidge as she unsteadily backed up, steps quick and maw agape, apparently deciding it was going to go in for the kill with its teeth.

The roar of the crowd was near deafening now as Pidge was backed against the wall and the alien mere feet away and the sword several more.

And Lance was too far to all of it.

No.

He thrust his head down and put on an extra burst of speed.

No.

It wasn't getting Pidge.

Over his dead body, remember?

Protect Pidge.

He let out a wordless scream and charged.

Hands outstretched he shoved them against Pidge, propelling her to the side and out of the creature's path. He had only a second to catch her gaze, a silent apology on his lips, before there was nothing but _pain._

A scream ravaged his throat as that long jaw snapped down over his left shoulder, teeth sinking into his flesh and hot blood – his own – splattering up to hit his neck and face. They dug in and something more inhuman sounding was pulled from him as the alien _shook_ him like he was a chew toy and he screamed again as they pushed in deeper. He faintly wondered how much more until the teeth pierced his heart and it was over.

And then, suddenly, the digging pressure abruptly cut off and the cheers of the crowd were turning to angry boos and hisses that for some reason his pain-addled brain picked out.

Why?

Why were they booing?

"L-Lance," came a stutter and he forced his eyes open – when had they closed? – and took in the blurry form of Pidge off to the side of him. He tracked blue splattered hands extended in front of her that led to a sword that led to…

To a sword being shoved through the back and peeking out of the front of the alien that still had Lance's shoulder clutched in its dead jaws.

Pidge had killed the alien.

Pidged had _killed_ the alien.

The announcer was saying something then – a twenty minute intermission until the next bout – but it all sounded so far away as Lance blinked slowly at Pidge, not able to do anything else.

She had released her grip on the sword now and was kneeling next to him where he'd at some point apparently collapsed to his knees and the full weight of the dead slave was pushing down on him.

He felt like it should hurt more but he was moving into a numb detachment from the scene.

Pidge had killed the alien with a _sword._

Pidge had killed because he had failed to do it first.

He'd failed to protect her. Not in the way it mattered.

He was brought right back to it though as rough hands braced against his back and a Galra guard pulled him free of the fangs and a choked sounding noise burst from his throat. A hand clenched in his hair then and he was being dragged backwards on his rear while Pidge was yelling something but following, her steps somewhat unsteady.

They were bringing them back to the waiting room. There were no other aliens there now Lance noted from behind glazed eyes. Just them.

They were still thrown into one of the cells. Before the door closed though the guard who had threatened Pidge was standing there, a blue-blood coated sword in one hand and a roll of what looked somewhat like bandages in the other.

"Your reward," the Galran said smugly. "Choose. The weapon or bandages."

Pidge sputtered next to him and he was both sad and relieved that unlike him she didn't appear to be going to mental pieces.

Pidge had killed the alien.

"You can't be serious. We need both."

"You get one," the guard said. "And choose quickly. You have… eighteen dobashes left."

"Before what?" Pidge demanded.

"Before you go back out."

Lance could see Pidge's mouth fall open. "But... " she trailed off, unable to give voice to this new horror. Because this was what the announcement had been of a melee commencing to the death. It wasn't just one match. It was going to be matches over and over again until… until…

They weren't going to be able to wait this out for a rescue.

They were going to be dead likely within the varga.

"Fine," Pidge said through gritted teeth. "We'll take the ban–"

"The weapon," Lance rasped, struggling to sit and feeling hot blood trickle down his back.

"Lance, what are you–?"

"The weapon," he repeated.

With a smirk the Galran dropped the bloodied blade into the cell with them. "Enjoy."

He turned then, leaving them in some modicum of privacy and taking up a station by the door.

"What the hell, Lance?" Pidge snarled lowly although there was no anger there. "You're… you're…"

"Are you all right?" he asked her instead and she let out a sound that was between a laugh and a sob.

"Am I all right? God, Lance, _look at you!_ Why would you _do_ that?"

"Protect you," he managed, having pulled himself to a version of a slouch against the rock wall of the cell. The pressure made his shoulder flare but he couldn't sit up on his own power at the moment.

"You _idiot,"_ she hissed, even as she pressed herself to his side and her arms tightened about his chest. A muffled sob. _"Thank you."_

"I'm sorry," Lance murmured, bringing his right hand up to card through the back of her hair. "That you… that you had to do that."

She sniffled. "I'm protecting you too." Still, he could feel her shake against him and he hated that he had done that. He hated that likely she was going to have to do something like it again.

They remained like that for a few more moments before Pidge straightened. "Now what?"

"We can't wait for rescue," Lance said quietly.

"I know," she said just as softly.

"We need to escape," Lance continued. "Somehow." He winced as he shifted to sit up more and Pidge's hands were there then, stronger than they appeared.

"You need medical attention," she said, voice small. "Lance, why would you turn down the bandages?"

"Don't know if they'll give us a weapon next time," he grunted and her eyes widened and she shook her head in denial even though her face showed the truth. "'Sides, got my shirt to make bandages." A small smirk turned up his lips for both of their benefits at the return to familiarity. "Help me take it off?"

Pidge groaned but a small smile flickered onto her face before it was replaced with thin lips as she set about helping him pull the skin-tight material, made more so now saturated with blood, up and over his head.

"That doesn't look good," she whispered after a few moans and dancing black spots later she had the shirt in hand and Lance's wound was exposed.

"Could've been worse," Lance tried.

Pidge was not amused and she pressed the strip of shirt she'd cut with the sword – rubbed as clean as possible first on the sand – a little firmer than Lance thought necessary and he couldn't bite back the gasp.

Pidge's face crumpled in horror and Lance was alarmed to see tears.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," he reassured terribly.

Pidge didn't bother to answer that and finished the quick bandaging job as best she could, leaving Lance's shoulder, chest and back wrapped in layers upon layers of his former shirt. He was eyeing her movements as she did so.

"How badly are you hurt?" he asked as she tightened the last knot.

"I'm okay. Honest. Landed a little funny on my side but it's feeling better now. You though…" Her hand rested lightly on his chest where he'd felt the crack and even her feather-light touch made him grimace.

"I'll make it," he told her with more confidence then he felt. Broken rib and alien chew toy. He could do this.

"So what's the plan?" she asked, cuddling up to his uninjured right side and he slung his arm about her, taking what little comfort he could get.

Lance glanced up but the guard was scrolling through a tablet and paying them no mind and the sentries stationed about the room while on guard weren't giving them any extra attention either.

"There's a forcefield around the arena," he told her quietly. "We need to somehow break it, climb the wall and get out of here." He stopped there and she snorted next to him.

"Want to fill in any more details there?"

"Nope. You're the genius. You do it."

A light laugh and he relished it. She went quiet as she thought before she nodded at his side. "I need materials. Something I can build to send a current through the forcefield. If it's like the ones we've encountered before it runs on–" and she went off into a string of words and numbers that Lance had no hope of following, "–so I just need to configure that. Just… how do we get supplies?"

"We win them," Lance said grimly. "The weapons. Once we get a few we can dismantle them and–" Pidge was shaking then and he broke off. "Pidge?"

"Weapons?" she repeated. "Plural? Lance, we barely won _one_ match and," she gestured a limp hand at him. "You… How can we…?"

"Because we have to."

Because Lance didn't want to die here and he damn well was going to make sure Pidge definitely did not. Somehow, someway, they were going to do this. They were going to fight and win and escape.

Pidge looked at him then with wide eyes and something he couldn't quite identify crossed her face before she nodded. "We get weapons," she said, voice firm. "I'll build something to cut the forcefield. We get over the wall… how?"

"I can boost you," Lance nodded to himself. Pidge was light and as they'd seen she was quite the climber. The arena walls were rough stone rather than metal so as long as she got high enough up she could brace herself and get over. They were maybe fifteen feet. It was doable.

"And you?"

Lance didn't answer that.

"Oh hell no," she snapped and Lance had the good grace to wince. "No more of this self-sacrifice bullshit." She nodded decisively. "My shirt. We can make a rope. I can't pull you up though."

"I'll climb," Lance said, not sure how with his shoulder screaming at every shift, but hopefully adrenaline would be kind. "You just… hold it."

"And after that, I'll hijack us a ride," Pidge concluded. "All these Galrans watching? There's got to be a whole hangar close by with ships."

The two shared a long look and then a solemn nod.

"Let's do this," Pidge said, smacking a fist into an open palm. And when the Galra guard released them from their cell several minutes later and opened the doors wide to the bloodthirsty crowd they walked out with their heads held high and a determined glint in their eyes.

It was time to beat the Galrans at their own game.

xxx

 _Round Two:_

Three aliens of the same spider-like race that scurried up and down the freshly installed pillars and chose to use their pincer claws rather than pick up the offered staff that looked to have once been part of a shock stick were their opponents this time. Pidge bludgeoned one to death after she broke its leg as it tried to climb. Lance offed the other two with the sword, taking a pincer stab in his left leg for his efforts when they tag-teamed him. The crowd screamed for more blood.

"Weapon or bandages?" the guard asked as Lance limped on his own power back to the cell.

They took the weapon.

Pidge stripped it of the few gears that had been nestled inside and buried them under the sand.

 _Round Three:_

Another hulking slave, six arms that the crowd went wild for. A fan favorite, apparently. He went for the weapon, a scythe, while already armed with a battle axe. Pidge took a deep slice to her arm for her attempt.

Lance intervened then; wielding the sword with more and more finesse despite the fact every fullbody swing had him grimacing in pain.

He never wanted to use a sword again.

This slave was different. He wasn't savage like the first or animal like the second. But he did not speak to them and his face remained impassive with every strike he received or returned. A hardened warrior.

They got lucky. Pidge managed to land a hit on their opponent's ankle with her improvised staff and apparently that was a fragile part of this alien's physiology. He went down and Lance thrust his blade through his head.

He'd been violently sick after with dark red blood too reminiscent of their own splattered on his torso and under his arms. The arena shook with the sound of the crowd's displeasure and mockery as Pidge hugged him tight before they were escorted off by blasters.

"Weapon or water?" was the offer this time and after exchanging a glance with Pidge, who shook her head slightly, they took the water. It was lukewarm and tasted awful but they drank most of it and used the remainder to wipe the blood as best they could from their faces.

It smeared in colored streaks. It looked like warpaint.

Both of them vomited that time.

 _Round Four:_

The arena had boulders to hide behind this time. Their opponent, a giant worm-like creature, burrowed. No weapons were dropped and Pidge cursed.

They waited. And waited.

A shaking to the earth that had nothing to do with the crowd's chanting of "Kill them! Kill them!" was their only warning.

It wasn't enough.

The creature popped through the ground underneath Pidge and she had only time for a startled "Lance!" before she was swallowed whole.

Lance sliced through the thing's stomach, a wild desperation to the swing as he hacked at it while screaming Pidge's name. Pidge emerged, covered in green goop and hacking and coughing, shallow scrapes on her arms and legs from its teeth but otherwise no worse for the wear.

"Water or bandages?"

They opted for bandages and spent the little respite they had splinting themselves together as best they could but Lance knew it wasn't enough.

They needed a good weapon and they needed it _now._

 _Round Five:_

A disgraced Galran officer. Blaster. Lance had gone for it with a burst of hope – no more blood, no more sword, no more _blood –_ only to find it didn't work. An ear-ringing backhand was his reward from the Galran for the error. The Galran's reward was impalement via the now sharpened spear Pidge wielded.

"Weapon or water?"

They took the blaster to the surprise of the guard and Pidge dismantled it as quick as she could. "Almost there," she whispered. "Just need to build it."

 _Round Six:_

Another creature, some type of robobeast maybe. Strong. Fast.

Fortunately stupid.

Still didn't mean they escaped unscathed, Lance pretty sure he had multiple broken ribs now and Pidge had smashed into the arena wall with a _crack_ and _scream_ as her left wrist snapped beneath her.

Lance killed it when it went in for the kill on Pidge, sword slicing its large head off an incredibly thin neck. It had twitched for far too long after.

"Water or bandages?" They took the bandages this time and Lance braided them into a sturdier rope, compounded with the ichor-soaked shirt Pidge pulled off, an athletic-type camisole covering her small curves.

Pidge was moving slow, her broken wrist clearly hindering her but she persevered, small fingers deftly twisting components together despite the pain and muttering beneath her breath that she was a programmer, damnit, but still, she was managing with what she had. Lance had the sobering realization that if Pidge hadn't been there he never would have gotten out.

"Done," she finally said, holding it in her hand, a mess of wires and plates that looked to Lance like scrap metal but the indicator light from the destroyed blaster was blinking so it obviously did something. "It should disable the current of their force field. Rope?"

"Done," Lance copied, holding up a coil of probably five feet. He wished it were longer but he'd prioritized strength over length. He was just going to have to jump for it.

He gulped. He was going to have to jump _high._ With broken ribs and a lame leg and a shoulder so stiff with pain and blood that he'd resorted to wielding the sword one-handed.

Pidge came to the same conclusion and her eyes narrowed at him. "I'm not leaving without you."

"Pidge—"

"I will jump back down if you even dare," she said, poking him in the chest with her creation. "I…" her voice broke. "I won't leave without you."

And he hated that he knew she would. He was both touched and terrified. Protecting someone went both ways. He may have pledged to himself he was going to get Pidge out of here but she was even more stubborn than him.

"Far wall," Lance said in answer. They'd been keeping away from the opposite arena door on purpose and the spectators had gradually been shifting and piling in on their side to get a better view of the action. There were still Galra there to be sure, but less. And the less fighting they had to do to get out of the crowd the better.

When they walked out for their seventh round of combat it was to the normal mixture of boos and screams, but Lance hated that mixed in were some whistles and cat-calls as the mostly male audience realized Pidge did indeed have a female figure.

She squared her shoulders at it and Lance bared his teeth at the stands. Disgusting. All of them.

The opposite door opened, revealing fortunately another type of beast, almost looking like a polar bear, grunting and straining at the leads and dragging the two Galrans keeping the muzzle on forward. Better a beast than a calculated opponent although Lance did not like the look of that thing's teeth. His entire shoulder and back ached in agreement.

"Fast," Pidge murmured next to him, adjusting the rope she'd looped about her chest that was holding her spear on."As fast as you can. Ready?"

Lance lightly knocked his good shoulder against hers, as much a hug as he could manage with the sword clenched in his white-knuckled grip. "Ready."

Because this was their last chance. If it didn't work…

They were dead.

The announcer called for the match to start and he and Pidge sprinted forward while the Galrans released the creature and beat a hasty retreat for the doors. They bypassed the weapon – a battle axe this time – and went straight for their chosen spot, which was to the far right of the creature.

Pidge juggled the device into her right hand and with all the strength she had launched it into the air and towards the invisible barrier.

It struck true and there was a flash of purple light as force field activated, holding the device suspended. Lance's breath caught at the sight.

Had it not worked?

A tick later though there was an almost spiderwebbing across the purple hexagons and with an inaudible crack the lights went out completely.

They'd done it.

But it wasn't over yet. They had reached the edge in their pell-mell run and with barely a pause Lance crouched down as Pidge came up behind him, hands on the ground. Her right foot stepped into them and he surged upward with all the strength he had left and Pidge was airborne.

She struck the wall with a gasp, just shy of the edge, and somehow managed to clear the gap of space, small hand clutching the ledge and pulling herself over and out of sight.

The rope dropped a moment later but Lance couldn't even try to grab for it as the beast had reached him and he backpedaled with a yelp, flinging the sword out as it bore down.

He managed a slice across its muzzle and it yowled, shaking its head and sending blood droplets flying. He gritted his teeth. They didn't have _time_ for this. The crowd was screaming – confusion and horror and anger – and regaining themselves from the surprise.

He maneuvered back to the wall and chucked his sword up, knowing they would need it to cut through the Galrans but leaving himself defenseless to the rampaging bear.

No choice.

"Lance! Hurry!" Pidge cried, unable to do anything while holding the rope and the quicker acting Galrans and security guards were closing in.

He made a flying, desperate leap for the rope, and to his own surprise caught the very end of it, but the strain on his shoulder was so great he very nearly let go.

No. He gritted his teeth.

If he let go then Pidge would come back and he had to protect Pidge. He had to get her to safety.

And that meant saving himself.

Lance pulled himself up with a strength powered by adrenaline, feet scraping out a hold on the rough wall and what was just ticks but felt like forever he was grabbing hold of the ledge and dragging himself over, bare stomach scratching uncomfortably on the mortar.

There was no time to regain his breath. All he could do was grab the sword, clamber to his feet and stumble up the stands with Pidge and her improvised spear behind him. The Galrans were hurrying their way but were being impeded by stadium seating, food and beverage containers littering the walkways and their own kind; huge in number and not all of them so quick to react to the fact the entertainment had just made a break for it.

"Left!" Pidge screamed as they cleared the top of the stairs. "Left!"

They tore through what appeared to be a concession area, Galra up getting snacks too stunned to reach for blades and guns in time, and they were whipping around into an empty corridor with helpful Galran exit signs leading the way.

If the entire thing wasn't so sick and twisted Lance might have been faintly amused that the entire arena was set up like an actual sporting event as they passed a last stop souvenir shop. The corridor sloped down in a ramp and he stumbled at the elevation change and his leg was screaming at him from where the pincer had dug in, but he gamely pushed on.

Behind them there was the echo of booted feet fast approaching and it forced them to go faster, spinning down the ramp in a near dizzying spiral. It finally evened out to reveal a giant parking deck, ships of all types and sizes pulled into clearly marked rows.

Lance felt like he was in some sort of dream at how _normal_ it all was. It felt _wrong._

Pidge had beelined further into the parking lot and Lance hurriedly followed, vision tunneling in on her auburn hair as every step he made almost seemed to be done by someone else.

Shock, his brain informed him, from blood loss. It was catching up as the first stages of adrenaline wore off.

"Here, here," Pidge hissed quietly, crouched down next to a small one-person battle cruiser along the perimeter and right hand flying over the control pad that kept it locked. Not the roomiest option but from their own experience in dealing with them they were a heck of a lot harder to hit and speed and maneuverability were key. With a soft beep it opened and she yanked open the door. Lance awkwardly climbed in behind her.

"Can you pilot?" she asked, already opening the control panel and configuring the code.

"Uh…" Lance blinked at the console, dark spots darkening it. He blinked again, trying to shake them away. "Y-yeah."

He shifted into the seat, gingerly taking the controls as Pidge powered the craft up around them. He didn't have the instincts that Shiro and Keith possessed but he could do this. Piece of cake. All of the Lions' controls were in Altean that he could read just as clearly as Galran, which was not at all. He didn't have the benefit of a Lion echoing in his mind and guiding his hands, so Lance went off his own knowledge of what looked right and hit what should be the control to bring it airborne.

A missile shot out the front and exploded the wall.

"That's our exit!" Pidge cheered, not realizing it hadn't been intentional. "Fly!"

Lance hit what his second option would have been and to his relief the thrusters shot to life with a roar. Outside of the ship the Galrans were arriving now and those with blasters were firing upon the cruiser, but they were doing nothing to it.

With a flare of the thrusters they shot forward and into the star-studded sky of space and then up and up and away from the Galra base. No one fired upon them as their cruiser matched those that were beginning take off sequences and they slipped away within the dobash.

"Where are we going?" Lance asked as the base grew smaller and smaller behind them.

"Olkarion," Pidge replied. "Just put in the coordinates. We've got a couple hours till arrival."

A smart choice. They'd all heard Shiro's pilot logs after they'd recovered him; the desperation and weariness and ultimate resignation when he continued to aimlessly fly. Olkarion would have a way to contact the Castle and would have medical facilities.

Lance slumped in the seat, the cruiser par for the course for a little while. Pidge managed to squeeze herself in with him thanks to the Galran's normally much larger sizes and he draped his right arm over her and cuddled her in close, blood splatter and all.

Her breath was hot where it struck his shoulder and her skin a pleasant warmth in comparison of the coldness of space. He buried his face in her hair then, trying to hide the hot sting of tears that cropped up as everything sunk in as the rest of the adrenaline faded.

 _Dios,_ what had they done?

He shook, even with his eyes closed able to see the gore and bodies. Hear the crowd scream and boo. Smell the death and blood. Feel both fangs pierce into him and his own hands guide a sword through flesh.

 _Dios._

But he'd done it to protect Pidge. And she had done it to protect him. _That_ was what mattered. They'd protected each other. They'd saved each other.

They were going to have to live with those memories for the rest of their lives – just like Shiro, Lance shuddered with a newfound horrified understanding and they had only been there for a couple _hours,_ not a _year_ , _Dios_ – but they would live.

They'd decided to beat the Galrans at their own sick game and they had. They'd lived. They'd fought. And they'd won.

"We're… we're gonna be okay," Lance mumbled against her hair and Pidge hiccupped a sob in his arms. "We are," he said, more firmly. "We will. We won."

"We won," she repeated, voice hollow. A deep sigh and a shudder. "We won," she said again, tears in her voice and Lance hugged her closer.

They had won, yes.

But at what cost?

Lance glanced down at the top of Pidge's head. The cost of innocence. The cost of life. Of morals. Of honor.

And he would gladly pay it again if it kept his family safe.

Resolve took the place of his horror and he let out a cleansing breath, letting it fill him.

Yes.

He would do anything to keep them safe.

No matter the cost.

xxx

 **Author's Notes:**

I've always wanted to do an arena fic although I always imagined it would involve Shiro. But this was a delightful way to get in there and features platonic Pidgance which I am a huge whore for, so yeah. Also, I could not help myself. Anyone spot the ATLA reference?

This is a commissioned fic from the lovely Lizzy who requested: Lance and Pidge get captured due to a leadership fight between Shiro and Keith. Lance sacrifices himself to keep Pidge safe (little sis style) and has to fight in the arena. (The story did end up a little more BAMF!Pidge than planned upon but I mean… she is? xD)

I am taking fanfiction commissions as a fundraiser to help out a dear friend of mine who is in a pretty critical financial situation. If you are interested in donating to her or commissioning a fic with all funds going to her situation, please see my Tumblr, icypantherwrites, for details. No personal profits are being made for myself.

I hope you enjoyed it Lizzy. Thank you so much and thank you for letting me post it publicly! I hope everyone else enjoyed it too. Please do drop a comment below! I'd love to hear from you!


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